Kisses
by Nightmare-san
Summary: AmericaxtheWorld/CanadaxAmerica - He leaves pieces of himself everywhere, but Matthew takes the largest one.


_Kisses, aka Alfred being a whore._

_Haha, okay, just kidding. (ornotAlfredyouwhoreeee... I love you.)_

_There's really no point in this fic . . . I just somehow wanted to express my love for Alfred and Matthew. It was a random idea and I'm not sure if many people will get what I was going for. Or maybe they will. :3 It doesn't really matter as long as everyone likes it haha. (I ended up working on it too hard and messing it up and putting cheesy lines in XD)_

_I've been following this brilliant Canada/US fic called General Relativity on the Kink Meme. I'm sure all CanUS fans know of GR and follow it like their lives depended on it, or most definitely SHOULD be. Seriously, if you haven't heard of it, dear God go read it. Even if you aren't a fan of the pairing, because it's so much MORE than a simple fanfiction. GR, and the author!anon who writes it, inspire me so. The story is just beautifully written, simple and filled with such a sweetness. Oh, it makes my heart ache to read it. I even put a little homage to it in here haha. The poutine part._

_Anyway, please enjoy. (Iamsuchaspazz... BTW,thisgetssodamnfluffy)_

* * *

He is sickened by his own people. Or rather, he can barely stand them. Their foolishness and ignorance, so much how he used to view the world, but he had _grown up_, goddamnit . . . Or so he believed. Sometimes he's not quite convinced (sometimes he feels like it's something he has to be sure of, like when he checks to see if he has everything he needs before heading out) and he knows the older Nations scoff at him behind his back; it's enough to make him want to vomit. He doesn't want to be the naive youth that everyone thinks incapable. But for some reason, that's how he feels now . . . Vulnerable and ignorant. He wants to understand and, in turn, for someone to understand him, his feelings and thoughts. He can't help laughing at himself, though, for feeling so dramatic about everything. It's not really him. He's a hero after all, and hero's aren't supposed to feel like kids.

He shambles off to England, feeling like some kind of idiot, to ask Arthur how he feels about his people. He prompts the question during tea (careful not to touch the scones) and the man just looks him straight in the eye and says nothing; he really doesn't have to, the look says everything. Alfred has never realized how old and battered he really looked; has never realized how much the man has gone through. Beaten and raped and killed over and over again by his own people.

He remembers briefly, a memory: Arthur's body, covered in scars, some still bleeding, set deep in his pale skin. Worst of all were the long lashes across his back . . . Old scars, but definitely the worst. He remembers his childish eyes filling with tears and Arthur bidding him to calm down. The memory makes Alfred sad all over again. That had been long ago . . . Arthur had suffered more since then. There is sure to be more scars raked across his body.

Oh, how tired he must be.

The thought makes him shiver and when he tries to see from Arthur's eyes, it's almost too much.

He kisses the man on the cheek before he leaves and is surprised when a light shines in those emerald greens. He allows the Englishman to kiss him, hard and rough, on the lips. It's a kiss filled with anger and frustration and sadness and pain that makes his knees buckle and heart ache. But it's over as soon as it starts. Arthur pulls away, flushed and panting, and gains control of himself. Alfred smiles at him and it's an apology.

"I hurt you, too. I'm sorry." He gives him one more lingering kiss, caresses his cheek while the thought of fumbling fingers on buttons and heated breath floats through the air between them, then he's gone.

He goes to France next, because France is nearby and he hardly ever thinks to visit Francis anyway. He finds him in a flat in Paris and asks the Frenchman the same question he asked Arthur. Francis smiles at him over his glass of wine, a smile caught between amusement and sadness, and mumbles something inaudible to him in French. When Alfred asks him again, he merely shakes his head and smiles again, showing teeth this time, saying no more.

Francis kisses him three times before he leaves. Once on each of his cheeks, and once on his left ear. He whispers a sweet nothing when he does so, something Alfred doesn't quite understand but accepts nonetheless.

On the way to Japan, he stops in China. Yao fills him up with good food and ignores his question. "Go ask someone else." he says. "I am too busy and tired to give you any answers." Then he shoves a fortune cookie in his hand, like he always does no matter where they are, kisses him quickly on the cheek, and sends him on his way with a smile.

Alfred eats the cookie, but stuffs the slip of paper into his pocket without looking at it.

In Japan, Kiku serves him tea and rice crackers with the same saddened and kind smile.

When he sees him, Alfred wants to go down on his hands and knees and beg for forgiveness for what he did to the Nation . . . But he doesn't. He doesn't because he knows the man's smile will just become sadder if he did; Alfred has always thought of Kiku's smile as the most brilliant and kind, that just broke your heart when you looked upon it. It brought with it a certain air, seeming almost secret and . . . Alfred just couldn't seem to explain it. He had known Kiku for years on years and still, he could not place the love that he felt for him.

So because he understands Kiku, he knows he doesn't need apologies; he's heard enough.

He ends up not asking the island Nation his question, because Kiku has already told him his answer with his smile and piercing, onyx eyes.

Before he leaves, he impulsively presses his lips to Kiku's thin wrist, earning a beautiful blush to color those pale cheeks and spark those dark eyes. Kiku reaches forward and kisses him on the forehead sweetly, bidding him to come over whenever he wishes. Alfred nods, smiles, and leaves.

It's cold in Russia. Bitter cold that seeps into his bones and chills his heart. Ivan welcomes him happily, exclaiming in Russian when he sees him. Alfred almost feels bad, because no one ever visits Ivan unless they absolutely must . . . And it must be so very lonely in this coldness.

The man serves him Stolichnaya and cold borscht. Alfred drinks the vodka to get down the borscht. He feels even more chilled afterwards and wonders vaguely how Ivan could live so coldly. To him, it just hurts.

He asks Ivan the question, downing another shot of vodka before he does. Ivan gives a dark smile, stares straight at him, and begins rambling on in Russian. Alfred doesn't understand a word, but he listens anyway, paying attention to the way the Russian moves his mouth, his occasional slur and the cold that emanates from him.

When he's finished, Alfred merely looks at him. Ivan inclines his head and finally says in English, accent thick,

"My people have hurt me many times. And I have hurt them back. After all . . . No one wants children who can't play nice, da?"

That's all he will say, and Alfred nods, takes it. He thanks Ivan for the food and alcohol and stands up to take his leave. Before he walks from the room, he turns back strides up to Ivan, who sits by the fireplace. When he presses his lips to the Russian's own, they're cold as ice, with only the air of remaining warmth somewhere hidden. He kisses him deeper to warm him, then pulls away. Ivan smiles at him, touches his hand, and Alfred leaves.

He visits Lithuania briefly. Just to touch Toris and lay his head upon his small shoulder. Then he's gone again with the scent of coffee on his lips.

He arrives in Canada late at night and it's his last stop before home. He's almost surprised to see Matthew already waiting for him, but somehow he had known all along that the Canadian would be the for him at the end of his journey.

"You been waiting for me?" and it feels like the first time he's spoken in a long time.

"I'm always waiting for a hero." Matthew says, rolling his eyes, and he begins to laugh. Alfred joins him, loving Matthew's smile and the way his breath hovers as mist, smelling of hot chocolate and warmth.

They walk down the streets of Montreal. It's cold in Canada as well, but not in the way it was in Russia. There is warmth in the place, a kind of light that shines everywhere they go. And for the first time in a while, Alfred feels like himself again. He feels happy and light. Matthew hasn't even done anything other than walk beside him, but Alfred feel like he's helped him more than anyone else.

He doesn't ask Matthew the question, but the Canadian answers him as they walk the streets.

"I remain hopeful." he says with a smile. Maybe it's not really an answer, but Alfred likes it.

They sit down on a bench somewhere in Old Montreal, clutching cups of hot chocolate and sharing a large plateful of poutine, shivering and warm at the same time. It's delicious and he realizes he hasn't really eaten anything filling and warm since Shanghai. Melted cheese drops onto his chin. Matthew laughs and leans over, licking up the stray cheese. Alfred grins, sips his finger in the gravy and smears it upon Matthew's lips, following soon after.

The kiss is sweet and casual, tasting of cheese and French fries ("Freedom fries" he laughs to himself). More warmth envelopes his body. It travels from his lips, reddening his face, and down to the tips of his toes. He drops the plastic fork in his hands and wraps his arms around the smaller blond, deepening the kiss because he wants to feel more of that warmth, more of Matthew's soft, moist lips.

The Canadian makes a small sound against his lips but doesn't protest. He must like it as much as Alfred does because he's prodding his tongue against the American's lips, nervous and slow, but Alfred happily lets him in. Soon he's lapping warmth into his mouth and it tastes so sweet and wet and perfect.

But then it's over. Alfred smiles, running his fingers over the Canadian's slightly bruised lips, loving the texture. Matthew smiles back at him and brushes their lips together once more, but doesn't go any farther.

At the airport, Alfred finds he doesn't want to leave. He presses himself against Matthew, their fingers intertwined lazily, and buries his cold face in the crook of his neck. He breathes in his scent, sweet and warm; everything about Matthew is so warm. He finds himself aching, like he used to with Arthur, aching and aching and wanting.

He kisses him one last time and turns to go. He's going home and it should be a good thing, should make him feel relaxed. But he's leaving a piece of himself in Canada, he knows that. He leaves a piece of himself everywhere, but Matthew is taking the biggest one.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and turns around, surprised. It's Matthew, smiling at him and shaking his head.

"What are you doing? Of course I'm coming too." and he holds up his plane ticket, grinning.

Alfred simply stands there, blinking in shock, probably looking like a complete idiot. Then he's smiling and laughing and kissing Matthew and he's so happy he feels like a child again.

They hold hands the entire plane ride back to Washington, even when Matthew falls asleep, his head resting on his brother's arm. As they're flying over Minnesota, Alfred finally realizes he doesn't have to worry about himself. It's okay for him to be how he is because he's not an idiot or a child anymore. The other Nations depend on him as much as he depends on them; that's how it should be and that's how it should stay. As for his people . . . Like Matthew, he has to have hope. He has to be strong and he has to work hard.

He has to be a hero.

When they make it out of the airport, still hand-in-hand and basking in the early morning light, Alfred drags them to the nearest diner.

"This is the weirdest breakfast I've ever had." Matthew laughs through a mouthful of pancakes.

Spread before them are plates of food; two plates of hamburgers and fries, two stacks of buttermilk pancakes topped with strawberries and whipped cream, and one plate of cinnamon toast which they share between a cup of hazelnut coffee and a chocolate milkshake.

"Really? This is the best breakfast _I've _ever hand." Alfred grins, nibbling on a fry, and leans across the table to shove his burger in Matthew's face. "Take a bit, Matty!"

"It's not going to taste good with maple syrup." Matthew rolls his eyes and when Alfred shoves it harder against he lips, he can't help but smile in spite of himself. He hates fried food; it's filling, greasy and tastes like shit. So very unlike Alfred.

"Okay, okay, I'll try it." He takes a bite. Chews.

"Well~?"

Matthew swallows and cocks his head. The first thing he tastes is meat, with just the subtle aftertaste of maple syrup. It's a strange combination and he expects it to taste just as weird as it sounds but, surprising, it tastes amazing. "Hmm . . . It's weird but . . . Tastes good." He shies Alfred a grin. The American returns it happily, eyes sparkling and soft.

"I'm glad you came home with me, Matt . . ."

"Of course I did. I've been meaning to visit . . . And I knew you wanted me to come with you anyway. I know you, Al. I know you so well." He smiles at his brother again, reaching across the table to grab his hand.

Alfred stares at him for a few moments, feeling his heart soar and fill. It's spine-tingling, stomach clenching, heart-racing, mouth drying, knee-weakening. It's everything they describe in the movies and books and more. So much more, because their love isn't a cliché. It's indescribably sweet, immortal, and most of all, _there_. It has always been _there_, and probably always would.

Alfred decides to be a bit bold. "I've been thinking I want you to get to know me even better."

There's no surprise on Matthew's face, but he turns a lovely shade of red and nods his head. Deciding to be a bit bold himself, he kisses the top of Alfred's hand and moves down his wrist. The American watches him, wondering what it would feel like to have his brother sucking on his fingers . . . And other things.

But there's time for all that later.

They finish breakfast an hour and a half later, too occupied with each other to realize how the time is going by around them. They walk around Washington afterwards, holding hands and talking about nothing really important. Childhood memories, somewhat of a blur in their long lives, and the future; Alfred is deadly serious when he says the world really will need a superhero someday. Matthew naturally agrees, then laughs.

Kisses are exchanged here and there during the walk. Alfred tries to be cool and kiss Matthew in front of all the historical monuments spread throughout the city, kissing him 'Hollywood style' on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Matthew doesn't really think it's much of a turn on to be kissing in front of a dead President's memorial, but it's Alfred, so, somehow, it's unbelievably sweet.

When they finally make love for the first time that night, they fall just a little bit harder. As their moans mix and bodies fit together oh-so sweetly, everything in the world is right and whole.

Everything is . . . Exactly as it should be.

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_If you enjoyed it, please leave a review :D_


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